It is upon us. Again.
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365 days they reckon there is in a year, but I'm still finding the 'remnants' of last year's festivities around the house. Only the other day when trying to search for 'that' pen you always keep for emergencies by the phone, I discovered that the handset itself had been resting on a present left 'undelivered' from the Christmas before one of those your mother always insists an buying 'extra', just in-case Aunty 'whoever', who only ever comes round when she's 'in the country' makes an 'official' (and un-announced) appearance, with her 'spawn' from 3 different gene pools in-toe.
I've already started purchasing 'possible pressies' in a blind panic while out shopping. The urge to buy evoked by the brainwashing tactics of the psychadelic peacocks that hang from the Bullring's celing. Festive? - artistic license gone mad.
My friends and I have yet to congregate to select the beneficiaries of this year's 'Secret Santa'. I however, have been banned from wrapping mine in anything other than a 'group-accredited' wrap, as they are still only just regaining their sight from the 'sparkly spectaculars' of last year's efforts.
I used to think it was a 'sign of age' when you start to get that feeling that time is passing you by quicker than you can register it, but I'm only 20 and surely can't be going through 'the motions' already? So I've come up with a more reasonable explanation…I'm a student!
Yes, the renowned lifestyle of the proverbial student i.e. 'a mixture of weekly alcoholic intoxication and lack of sleep' will do that to you.
Never-the-less, I find myself clearing my usual alcohol absorbing, party-packed social diary in favour of a much more subdued night in front of the box to indulge in an hour of sequin-clad desperados, dilly-dallying on ice … much sooner than I expected.
Many try to ignore it, some put it off until December 1st, and some make a bid for festive-free fun in the sun to avoid the foreboding festiveness …
But there's no escaping the inevitable, and as soon as the sound of that familiar gas-guzzling red truck rounds the corner of your TV screen in the adverts of Emmerdale, your singing "the holidays are coming…", and before you know it, Christmas is officially here. Again…
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